Between the Stars and the Sea
by astorianox
Summary: After watching Hermione be tortured at Malfoy Manor, something in Draco breaks. Perhaps he could save her, or she could save him. Together they escape, taking shelter in a seaside cottage that once belonged to Hermione's great aunt. There they remain hidden from the entire wizarding world with only the ocean and each other for company. (characters belong to J.K. Rowling)
1. Escape Artist

"Stop! Lower your wands or she dies," Bellatrix demands "and we will see just how filthy her blood is."

She is deranged, absolutely deranged. Her dagger presses against Granger's throat.

Granger, who I had attended school with. Granger, who always beat my marks by a smidgen. Granger, who once slapped me across the face for mouthing off. Granger, who now has bright red beads of blood forming on her exposed neck as my aunt clutches fistfulls of her hair.

I can't look away, I can't move, feeling strangely out of place in my own home, feeling strangely out of place in my own body.

It all seems so surreal, can it actually be happening, or is it just another nightmare? When had it become so hard to tell the difference? Maybe if it's a nightmare I can control it, sometimes that works. I read that can happen once you've mastered occlemency.

Potter and Weasley stand across the room from me with a goblin at their sides. They lower their wands to the floor.

"Pick them up, Draco. Now!" Bellatrix shouts.

I'm only partially aware of my own movement as I cross the room and gather the discarded wands. More than anything I am aware of Potter's glare burning through me. He looks disappointed, it seems strange to notice such a thing. I wonder if he knows I tried.

I thought it would be enough to not identify them, to claim I was unsure whether they were actually Harry Potter and his friends. I had been so wrong.

Granger had screamed till her voice gave out, as Bellatrix cast upon her one Cruciatus curse after another. Everything became so hazy after that.

I walk back to my parents carrying the confiscated wands. My mother stands rigidly behind my father who looks, if possible, more pale than usual.

Greyback was close, far too close for my liking, with his menacing leer, emitting a rotten smell, wild eyes staring greedily at Granger's limp form.

Bellatrix notices this as well.

"Hungry, are you, Greyback? You want her for yourself, of course. Don't be hasty, you can have her when I'm done."

My stomach turns, threatening to spill it's contents.

A metallic noise overhead makes everyone look up. A house elf, _my_ house elf, my former house elf is loosening the bolts of the crystal chandelier directly over the heads of Bellatrix and Granger. What a strange dream this is.

Bellatrix releases her hostage to throw herself out of the way. Suddenly unsupported, Granger collapses onto the ceramic tiles at the same time the chandelier crashes down upon her. The sound brought me abruptly, painfully, back to my senses.

This was indeed a nightmare, but I was awake.

My face stings. Shards of glass had sprayed on impact, knicking my skin in several spots.

Everything is chaos. Voices and jets of lights. The wands, including my own, are summoned right out of my hands. Potter catches them. Weasley sends curses towards my aunt with his newly acquired wand. I would not have intervened if I could. Curse the lunatic into oblivion for all I care, she had been unhinged for as long as I could remember.

Just beneath the shattered crystal, Granger was stirring feebly.

"Call him!" Bellatrix screeches. "Now!"

No, not him, don't call him. Potter and Weasley were giving it their best, the house elf has just reached them. My family and the demolished chandelier seperate them from Granger. They would not reach her in time. I have no wand, nor does she. Maybe it would work, it has to.

I narrowly avoid a jinx as I dive. Granger's eyes flicker as I land beside her, grabbing her arm.

"Somewhere safe" I say loud enough for only her to hear. "Think of somewhere safe!"

Her eyes try to focus on me. Someone is yelling her name.

"You have to focus, envision somewhere safe!"

I could break the wards, I could apparate us out, but I need her to work with me, to outperform me as she always did. Wandless magic is hard enough, and side along apparation is tricky.

"Come on, Granger! Please!"

She sputters a bit, a drop of bright red blood slides down her neck.

"Sea- Seaside Cottage. In Crescent Cove," she chokes out the words in a hoarse voice.

I hope she's certain of the place, focusing all her energy on it. All I can do is trust her, and hope she trusts me.

"Take my arm, Granger, do not let go."

Everything happens all at once, lots of shouting, a loud crack, an agonizing scream, a pull from the core of my body, smothering, dizzying blackness, fingers digging deeply into my arm, a pop of stars behind my closed eyelids, then the smell of salt water and a soft landing.


	2. Ebb and Flow

The sand is cool and dry beneath my hands and knees. Granger's fingers are still clutching my arm tightly, she's on her back beside me. Waves are crashing noisily against each other, the air is thick with salt, and before us is a small cottage made up of smooth blue-gray stones.

Still a bit dizzy from apparating, but thrilled none the less that we both appeared to make it with all of our limbs intact, I exhale the breath I've been holding for an eternity and take in a fresh one. Granger tries to lift her head, but she's weak. Her grip on my arm slackens.

"Where are we?" I ask, brushing away sand as I get to my feet. "Who does this place belong to?"

"My- my great aunt," she answers, her voice barely audible over the sound of the ocean.

"And she will be ecstatic that you've appear unannounced on her doorstep with a stranger?" I ask, not bothering to mask my sarcasm.

"She's dead."

"Oh."

"Died last Spring, left it to my parents."

She struggles to get up. After a few seconds of watching her feeble attempts, I reach down to help pull her from the sand. Her legs aren't very stable but she manages to keep her balance as long as she's holding on to me.

"So then who lives here now?" I ask.

"Nobody."

"It's vacant? Can we even get in?"

She nods, slowly guiding us both toward the cottage. Our footsteps are clumsy and uneven in the sand as we hold onto eachother.

Rocky hillsides wrap around the property, surrounding it on all sides except the waterfront. The hills are relatively short and the cottage miniscule, but it feels private and safe. There is no greenery aside from tufts of faded beachgrass sprouting throughout the dunes.

A couple hundred feet seperate the water from the cottage, which sits slightly uphill. A weathered porch stretches across the it's length. Two rocking chairs sway in the sea breeze, giving the illusion they are occupied by unseen somebodies. It's too short to have a complete second story, but there appears to be a balcony above the porch. The round windows on the front of the house are dark.

"There's a key," Granger says, leading us toward to left side of the porch.

"Show me."

Reaching her slender arm through the lattice, she feels around the underside of the porch. Her hand emerges and she presents a small cloth pouch. I hold out my hand and into it she dumps a silver key.

I help support her up the three steps to the porch. White paint is chipping away from the front door. Twisting the silver key, I hear a pop then a click and the door cracks open.

Inside it's dim, lit only by the sunny patches of evening light cast on the wood floor from the open door and splits in the curtains.

The walls are a pale purple. It reminds me of faded bruises and the way my eyes look in the morning after sleepless nights. I don't care for the color.

The room itself is circular with three doors lining the back wall, and a short ladder leading somewhere overhead. It appears the living and dining area and also the kitchen are all one room.

Granger immediately makes her way to an antique sofa and collapses onto it, causing it to emit a puff of dust.

Her exhaustion is somehow louder now that the ocean waves are muffled. She is breathing heavily and her voice strains as she tells me to close the door and open a window instead.

I'm rather chilled myself, but do as she says anyway. Flipping the latch, I push open the circular glass. The curtains rise and fall as cold, salty air floods in. I look out to see the sun melding with it's own reflection in water.

"Draco," I startle at the sound of my own name in her voice, "why did you do it?"

I have no answer to this. In fact, the weight of the situation is sinking in as fast as the sun is sinking below the horizon. I have just broke ranks, abandoned ship, fled with enemy.

The Dark Lord would arrive and learn of my betrayal, I'll be as good as dead, he would make sure of it. The thing that's really making my chest ache though is knowing I left my family behind and there is no going back now.

Granger closes her eyes when I don't provide an answer. The room is getting darker by the second, washing away it's color and detail.

"See if there's any kerosene in the lamps on the mantel," she gestures toward the fire place without opening her eyes.

"Any what?"

"Just-" she inhales sharply, "ignite the wick, turn the knob, see if they light up."

"I haven't got my wand."

The words are painfully true and leave a sick feeling in my stomach.

"There should be matches, little sticks, near by. Strike one on the stone to catch fire."

It sound ludicrous, but I find the sticks and do as she says. It takes a minute but I manage to make both lamps flicker to life. They cast dramatic shadows throughout the room. Granger's eyes remain shut but atleast now I can see properly.

A few framed paintings and a couple of photos hang on the wall. There stillness is strange and off-putting. A couple chairs sit near the sofa, separated by a short table. An ancient looking rug provides a thin barrier between the furniture and the stone floor.

The grandfather clock that stands in the corner says it is a quarter after two which is impossible considering it is neither the afternoon or the middle of the night.

A rickety looking table with two mismatched chairs sits in front of a round window near the front door. An empty vase sits upon it, as well as two knitted place mats.

Above a washing basin sits a third round window, this one without curtains. There is an ancient looking potbelly stove close by, and some sort of of tall ivory chest with two doors, one above the other. It has only empty shelves and drawers on the inside.

Eager to know what there is to work within the rest of the cottage, I take a lamp to explore behind the closed doors starting with the nearest.

The first room is small with seashell printed wallpaper that's peeling in the corners. There is a bed smaller than my own at home but bigger than my four-poster at Hogwarts. A steamer trunk sits at its foot, and there is also an armoir and a fragile looking chest of drawers. Like the living area, the furniture sits on a threadbare rug that covers most of the stone floor. There is one window, round like the others.

Behind the next door is a lavatory with mint green ceramic tiles on the walls, an ivory clawfoot tub and a matching pedestal sink. On the wall hangs a painting of a topless mermaid who's chest is only partially obscured by dark, flowing hair. Though this painting remains still like the others, I am reminded of the one in the Prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts that used to splash around for attention.

The last door leads to a small library. Books line every square inch of wall with the exception of one round window, where an oversized shell back chair sits, the only piece of furniture in the room aside from a cluttered desk. An atlas covers most of the desk's surface, along with a globe, an ornate hour glass, some sort of contraption with lettered buttons, ink pots and a cup full of featherless quills.

Immediately I'm drawn to this room. Though not nearly as grand, it reminds me of my own library at the manor, a haven to where I would often escape, that is until the Dark Lord took residence in the manor, thus eliminating any such peace.

With a twist like a knife in my stomach, I back out of the room.

Granger must have fallen into an exhaustion induced sleep, she hasn't moved so much as a finger. The memory of her laying on the floor of the manor is still too vivid. I try not to look at her.

Instead I turn to the ladder which leads to the only area left unexplored. I climb the seven or so wrungs and nearly bump my head on the low ceiling when I reach the top.

The only thing up here is a daybed with stacks of folded blankets and pillows piled neatly at its side. The wall opposite the is entirely made up of glass with a nearly undetectable door which leads to the small balcony.

I open it and the sea breeze lifts my hair, the chill settling into my bones almost instantly. I let the cold air fill my lungs. It's oddly soothing.

It's dark now aside from the starlight. I put down the lamp and let my eyes adjust to take in the surroundings.

Crescent Cove comes by its name honest. The ocean spills in between the two rocky ends on either side, creating a thumbnail stretch of pale sand. Despite the circumstances, a strange sense of serenity washes over me as I watch the tide ebb and flow.

Pulling my sleeves further down my wrists, I go back inside, closing the door behind me and descending the ladder.

Unsure what to do next, I return to the sofa where Granger had contorted herself into a new position. Now her side with her knees pulled up to her chest, her face is hidden by a thick curtain of curls. She looks cold, I hesitate before touching her exposed wrist. She feels like ice, her pulse beets against my finger tips.

I shut the window and choose a thick blanket from one of the many stacks and start to drape it over her, but she looks cramped and uncomfortable.

"Granger," I say quietly, but she doesn't stir.

I try again, prodding her shoulder, then shaking it gently, all to no avail.

Deciding at last, I gather her in my arms and transport her the short distance to the bedroom. I could not turn down the duvet while holding her, so I put her down on top of it and fetch the blanket.

I watch the sliver of light illuminating her form on the bed grow thinner as I back out of the room with the lamp, pulling the door closed.

My body feels suddenly exhausted in the absence of adrenaline but my mind is running rampant, and it's still too early to sleep. Pondering all the decisions that led me to where I am now, I sit down on the sofa. In contrast to the chilly room, it was still warm from her.

It was strange to think back to this morning when I woke, how I had no idea that before the day was over I would betray the Dark Lord, be separated from my family, lose my wand, and flee to a hide out with only Granger as company.

Never have I felt this way before, both powerless and powerful all at the same time.

I have no wand, no way of safely using magic without being traced, and no guidance or assurance from my parents, yet for the first time I've actually done something. Something that feels like the right thing. The decision to save Granger and escape was mine and mine alone.

For a long time, I don't know how long, I sit alone with my thoughts while she sleeps in the next room. There is still so much to think about, so much to do, but it will wait until morning.

I climb the ladder to the loft and sit down on the daybed, taking off my shoes and selecting the thickest blanket to wrap up in. Looking out through the glass wall into the endless darkness, I begin tucking away all the loose thoughts until everything is locked away in it's place and my mind goes still before I finally allow my eyes to close.


	3. Awakened

It's freezing. I don't know why I didn't wear thicker robes. I walk down an uneven cobblestone road. It looks like Knockturn Alley, but different somehow. I don't like it here. If only I could find my way back to Diagon Alley with it's brightly lit shops and sweet smells. Here is only moldy bricks and pan handlers and rats, everything is utterly dismal.

It was hard to concentrate on anything but the cold. If I could get to Madam Malkin's she could fit me for a new robe. Hell, I'd settle for a hot drink at the Leaky Cauldron. For some reason I have forgotten how to perform a simple warming spell.

It appears I'm in Diagon Alley now, that took no time at all. No idea why I believed it would be so difficult to locate, like I've not done it a hundred times before. There's Gringott's, and Flourish and Blott's though I could have sworn it was in the other direction. There's Quality Quidditch Supplies, one of my most favorite shops, then there's Ollivander's.

Ollivander's.

For some reason I don't want to look at it, or get near it, but the more I try to turn away the closer I get. Mr. Ollivander is there, I can see him laying in the display window, his clothes ragged and his cheeks hollow. He locks eyes with me.

"It's you," he cries out. "Please, please let me out, I beg you! Don't keep me in here!"

Mr. Ollivander scrabbles at the glass now, making his dirt covered fingers bleed.

I try to speak, but my mouth feels like mush. I try to run, but my feet won't cooperate. So I try to close my eyes, but they remain fixed on the frail, frantic wizard before me.

"Please, I'll do anything! Help me out of here! Let me go! Let me go!"

Mr. Ollivander's voice echoes inside of my head. I'm shaking, but not just because of the cold.

The cold.

So cold.

My eyes open, I am staring at a low ceiling clutching fist fulls of blanket. My breathing slows as I look around, trying to figure out where I am.

Through the glass wall the sky is a pale blue and gold over the ocean. It's early.

Sitting upright, I pull the blanket higher up on my chest. It's freezing in here. It must have got colder over night.

Everything is quiet except for the muffled oceans waves. Nothing can be heard downstairs. Granger has likely took off by now, left to find Potter and Weasley and a safer place than under the same roof as me.

Bringing my blanket with me, I descend the ladder. It's no warmer down here, but is brightly lit now compared to when we arrived yesterday.

I crack the door of the room where she had slept to see if she left anything behind. I don't know what I'm expecting, a note that reads "farewell and piss off, sincerely Hermione Granger."

What I don't expect to find is Granger still laying in bed with closed eyes, just as I left had left her the night before.

Fucking hell, she's dead. I just know it.

How ridiculously stupid of me to assume she would be fine. Had I expected her to sleep it off? She'd been repeatedly hit with the crutiatus curse and then by a falling chandilier. She needed attention from a healer who could give her potions and perform the proper healing spells, yet I threw her in a bed and left.

I can't make myself walk over to her but I know I need to. Could this be a dream also? I hope, I hope.

Cautiously, I approach the bed. She is still as a stone. A memory of her laying petrified in the hospital wing our second year at Hogwarts flashes absurdly across my mind.

Her chest is moving, thank Merlin, but when I touch her wrist it's ice cold. If anything she could have froze to death.

"Granger?"

I don't know why I'm whispering.

She doesn't stir.

I call her name again, louder this time, adding a gentle prod to her shoulder.

Nothing.

"Damnit Granger, wake up!"

Third time's a charm. Her eyes move beneath their lids before she opens them a fracture.

"Fuck," I exhale, relieved rather than angry.

Her lips part and she draws in a shaky breath. Her hand finds the left side of her ribcage. She uses the other arm to try and prop herself up though she keeps her eyes squinted in pain.

I don't have the slightest idea what to say, luckily she goes first.

"Cold," is all she says.

I suddenly feel silly, remembering how I must look with the thick, fuzzy blanket wrapped around me. I strip it off despite the chill and put in on the bed where she could easily reach it if she wanted. She ignores it, abandoning her own blanket as well to scoot her legs over the edge of the bed. I back up to give her space.

Wincing as her feet hit the floor, absorbing all her weight, she clutches her side and lets out a small groan.

"Your ribs are broken," I say. Out loud it sounds dumb and unhelpful.

"Yes," she says through her teeth, "but better my ribs than my neck."

I don't know whether to support her as she walks or not. Everything feels even stranger than it did yesterday, more real. Without help, she moves slowly toward to doorway.

She goes into the bathroom the without closing the door for privacy. I turn away quickly but I hear her rummaging through things.

"What are you doing?"

"Medicine," she responds.

By the look of frusteration on her face when she comes out, she found no medicine, though I don't know what a muggle household could have that would be helpful anyway.

She goes from the bathroom to the kitchen and opens cabinet doors, groaning every time she raises her arm. Inside there appears to be some dishes and pots. She does not find what she is looking for.

"We're going to need supplies," she says.

"Supplies?"

"Yes, supplies, we can't stay here with nothing."

"Stay here?"

I can't seem to form a sentence that doesn't sound remarkably dense.

"I'm sorry, did you have somewhere better in mind? I mean obviously it's no Malfoy Manor, nothing could rival the warm hospitality one find there, but it's certainly better than sleeping outside you have to admit."

That mouthful coupled with the amount of snark she put into each word seems to take it out of her and she sits down at the kitchen table.

The idea that she actually wants to remain here and is implying she expects that I'll also be staying stuns me. Not willing to say anything else that sounds so willfilly incompetent, I remain silent.

"We need food," she says.

I am starting to get hungry now that she mentions it. My appetite hasn't been very present as of late, not with the dinner guests we so often had, but I managed to consume enough food to function. However, with the escapades of yesterday I hadn't had dinner. Then a thought occurs to me.

"When's the last time you've eaten?" I ask.

"A couple days ago I suppose. We caught a fish and charred it over the campfire. It tasted terrible."

For fuck's sake. Catching fish and cooking over a fire? Now that I really looked, she is waifish compared to the healthy roundness of her face that I remember from our days at school. It's honestly a wonder she's alive. The sort of things she has probably done to survive make me uncomfortable. To think I've been sulking about having to eat my hot meals in the presence of Death Eater's when she's been starving just to stay hidden from them.

Shame burns on my cheeks.

I realize she's talking again, but I missed the first part while lost in thought.

"-long walk but we could make it there and back before dark. Unless you're morally opposed to stealing, of all things."

"Stealing?"

"I'm sorry, were you the one who was tortured, because I would then understandably excuse your incompetence, or perhaps you were just always this bad of a listener?"

It's frightening how much she sounds like McGonagall when she reprimands, but she right. Of course I'd never admit it out loud, though.

She's the one who is injured and starving and likely traumatized, yet she's on back on her feet formulating a plan of survival while I stand here pondering the strangeness of our predicament.

"How far?" I ask, determined to be compliant if I can't be helpful.

"About 10 miles. It would take atleast three hours to walk there plus the walk back again and that's if we move at a reasonable pace, not including however long it takes to knick what we need from the market. We can only take as much as we can carry and conceal, which isn't much-"

"No offence," I interrupt, remembering her tendency to ramble, "but that sounds like a terrible idea."

Her expression turns sour.

"I suppose you have a better one?" she raises an eyebrow high in disbelief.

Shite. I don't.

"It's settled then," she says triumphently. "I should warn you though, muggles have prisons as well, and stealing is more than frowned upon."

"I'm not new to scare tactics, Granger, nice try though."

She actually looks a little guilty and withholds any snarky retort she was likely preparing.

"We are going to need clothes, too," she says, glancing down at her thin and tattered shirt. "It's going to be a cold walk."

My immediate thought is "that's ludicrous, we'll just cast the warming spell". My second thought is "why the bloody hell would we walk anyway when we could apparate, or fly." Then with a sickening thunk in my stomach I remember.

Nothing will ever be the same.

"Fuck," I say aloud.

"Indeed," she responds, gingerly rising from her seat.

She heads back to the bedroom, and I don't know what to do other than follow her.

"What are you looking for?" I ask from the doorway as I watch her rummage in the wardrobe.

"Clothes. I need to see what we already have to work with."

She takes out a few articles of women's clothing and drapes them on the bed.

"They cleaned out the perishable things. Food, medicine, all that, but they didn't get around to sorting all her belongings before-"

She left her sentence hanging, folding a garment neatly over her arm before laying it on the bed.

"They?" I ask, annoyed at her lack of clarity.

"My parents."

"Okay?"

"They were going to use this as a holiday spot."

"And then they saw it and changed their minds? Completely understandable."

Her face puckered. She pinched her eyes shut and rolled her lips together. My spine tenses as I realize she is on the verge of tears.

Leaving the clothes strewn across the bed, she leaves the room.

By time I catch up she is standing at the kitchen basin with her back to me. Her head is bent low and she braces herself on her palms. It's a minute before she speaks.

"There's a basket of yarn and needles beside the couch, I could knit us some jumpers," she tells the basin.

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"What the hell is knitting jumpers going help?"

"Draco," she rounds on me, "do you realize the extremity of our situation?"

Before I can answer she presses on.

"To summarize, not only do we have to remain out of sight as we are now undoubtedly the most wanted witch and wizard aside from Harry himself, but we also have no food, no running water, no heat, no proper clothing, and no means of attaining these things without money or magic. We're fortunate to have shelter, but that's all we have and it's not enough. I know you're used to a far more luxurious, pampered lifestyle where all the things you want and need just effortlessly appear, but that's no longer the case. You made a choice and now you're here so if you want to survive, which I assume you do, you're going to have to work for it!"

She storms back into the bedroom with a much attitude as she can muster despite her fatgiue and injuries, and within a seconds she returns appearing to have put on at least two hideous jumpers over her own shirt.

"You're welcome to any of the clothes in there, of course they're women's clothes and inexpensive ones at that, so if you prefer to freeze instead by all means that's your prerogative. Now lets go."

I want to object, but I have yet to think of another plan. Still, I'll be damned if walking hours in the cold to knick some food is the best we can come up with.

Granger is already at the door but just before she grasps the knob, a sharp tapping sounds.

Her hand retracts and she instinctively reaches in her back pocket for her wand which is not there.

Another tap.

She looks at me for, I don't know, suggestions I guess.

Feeling vulnerable and a little paranoid that the Dark Lord himself os standing on the other side of the door, I move quietly to the window and pull the curtain back a fraction to look out.

Something moves right in front of where I'm looking. I jump back so quickly I stumble a bit, but manage to stay on my feet. It annoys me that Granger saw that.

 _Tap tap tap_ on the window. Abandoning caution all together I jerk the curtain back forcefully. A regal, grey owl is fluttering outside of it. Something is tied to it's leg.

I can't get the window open fast enough. The second I do, the owl swoops inside, perching on the arm of the sofa.

I recognize it as one from our personal owlry at Malfoy Manor. My hand shakes from nerves and excitement as I untie the parcel from it's leg. Now Granger has come to stand beside me to better see.

The moment the owl is freed from it's burden, it soars back out the still opened window and is gone.

Before I can completely remove the wrappings, Granger reaches out to touch it.

Immediately she pulls her hand away with a whimper, causing me to drop the parcel out of instinct. She brings her fingers to her mouth, sucking them like a creature licking it's wounds.

"It burned me," she says, even though that went without explanation. "It's cursed!"

"It's not cursed, it's just not for you," I correct her, reaching to retrieve it from the floor. She makes a small noise as soon as I touch it, but my fingers remain unharmed.

The object is a tiny, retangular box. Etched into the surface in miniscule, glowing script is the word "engorgio". Though I don't read it aloud, the moment I acknowledge the spell the box itself expands with a pop.

Now measuring more than 20 inches in length and staggeringly heavy, I put the box on the table and open the lid. Granger shuffles closer to look, all danger forgotten.

Inside, laying in neat rows are stacks and stacks of galleons, several layers of them. Before I can be bothered to count them, my eyes fall to the item laying perpendicular to the coins; my mother's wand.

At the sight of it, I am too stunned to pick it up. I am also too stunned to notice the folded piece of parchment tucked next to it, that is, until Granger reaches for it.

"Do you honestly not know how to keep your hands off things that don't belong to you?" I ask rhetorically, nabbing the note before her with the same quick reflexes that earned my spot as Seaker.

"Well read it all ready! I can't stand not knowing what it says!"

I don't appreciate her telling me what to do, but I cannot bare to stall either.

I unfold the parchment, and though I had not really expected a lengthy letter, I am surprised to see there are only four words written in my mother's swooping script.

"Be safe, my love."

Pain bursts within my chest as I absorb her message. My mother has given me the only protection she has left to offer. What is a witch without her wand? But then, what is a mother without her son? My stomach knots up in guilt and sorrow. I know she is devastated by my abandonment, maybe even feeling betrayed, yet she still sacrificed her only defence, her wand, for me, and I know she understands, as do I, that I can never come back.


End file.
